Inside the column, moonlight energy slowly rotates and flows like a galaxy, with light points at the core shining like stars.

The entire column emits suffocatingly pure energy fluctuations, breathtakingly beautiful yet as fragile as if it might collapse at a touch.

The ground has collapsed more severely, forming a huge pit over twenty meters in diameter, with broken rocks at the bottom, forcibly severed ordinary plant roots, and spiritual soil rapidly turning gray and decayed after losing its energy nourishment.

Local energy vacuum causes the air to make a sharp whistle, madly rushing into the pit.

The bowl made of liquid magic metal is steadily cradled in the middle of the well-water column, the circulating runes constantly releasing stabilizing and restraining power, preventing the column from collapsing due to its own weight and energy instability.

Four metallic arms bear enormous physical and energy loads, emitting a groaning sound, yet under the precise control of the alchemical wizard, they steadily collaborate in lifting.

As time passes, everyone’s hearts are in their throats.

Duke manipulates the mental hub core, missing not a single detail of energy flow, not a single moment of rune change, not a single rhythm of force field coordination.

This overall extraction technique is obviously more sophisticated and complex than the standard process mentioned in Hal’s intelligence, requiring much from the caster.

Finally, as the over ten meters long, softly silver-glow emitting water column is completely lifted from the ground, its bottom completely severed from the pit, a glint flashes in Vika’s eyes.

The liquid Mithril bowl cradling the column suddenly contracts inwardly and transforms, runes on the bowl walls frantically flashing, Mithril itself also begins to flow and extend, like a living silver cocoon, rapidly enveloping the precious water column from top to bottom.

One layer, two layers, three layers... until forming a fifteen meters long, approximately three meters in diameter, white-silver spindle-shaped metal sealed chamber densely covered with stabilizing and sealing runes.

At the moment the sealed chamber completely encloses, isolating internal and external connections, Vika decisively cuts off the stable anchor’s last main root link to the water column.

"Boom!"

Without energy source and external constraints, the huge pit on the ground undergoes its final and most violent collapse and energy backflow explosion, earth and stones splattering, smoke and dust permeating.

But the sealed chamber containing all the essence of the Moon Well has safely hovered in mid-air, firmly fixed by four metal arms, runes on its surface glimmering like breath, dimly visible inside the flowing silver light and core light point.

A complete Level 1 Moon Well has been extracted and encapsulated, the surrounding wizards erupting in suppressed cheers and sighs.

Duke quietly watches the hovering silver sealed chamber, his heart tumultuous, witnessing a far more complete and advanced Moon Well extraction technique than anticipated.

If he were acting alone, he certainly couldn’t achieve this, without the corresponding facilities and methods, it is impossible to peel off a Moon Well so completely.

But Duke also doesn’t need to achieve this level, he organizes the entire process data, realizing he can achieve a similar effect using Metallic Yellow Sand.

Just definitely unable to peel off a Moon Well so perfectly, but achieving comparatively more rough results is still feasible.

The pale purple brilliance of Elune’s moon softly covers the eastern edge of Shadow Song Valley, land newly baptized by iron and fire.

From the sky overlooking, the scene starkly contrasts, shocking.

Centered around four Night Elf clan dwelling places and radiating outwards several miles, the forest seems ruthlessly trampled by a pair of coarse giant hands.

Large patches of charred scars replace the originally lush canopy, marking the aftermath of flame storms and explosive magic.

Meandering streams are blocked by corpses and collapsed soil, water dark red and turbid.

Paths roughly opened by the slave legion, marked with ruts and footprints, like ugly scars, tearing through the forest’s mystical texture.

Sporadic flames still burn on some ruins, emitting thick smoke, twisting upwards under the purple moonlight, like the final gasp of a dying giant beast.

The core regions of the four clans are now beyond recognition.

Mist Song, Stone Root, Night Dew, Mu Ye, names that once murmured under the moonlight for hundreds of years, now mostly reduced to remnants and rubble, charred wood and broken tiles, and thoroughly churned earth.

Only those tallest, most resilient ancient trees, though covered in scars, still stubbornly point to the sky, seemingly silently remembering everything that happened.

The most striking are the deep pits newly appearing in the center of each core area, as if a section of the earth was gouged out.

Scattered on the edges are moonstone fragments lost in luster, darkness and eerie silence within the pit, only faint, dispersing moonlight energy drifting like a wandering spirit, narrating the once existence here of a life source closely connected to the three moons - the Moon Well now completely uprooted.

In the air, a bloody, scorched, residual magic acrid scent lingers, mixed with the forest’s inherent damp decay and the faint fragrance brought by Elune’s moonlight, forming a battlefield odor that is extremely discomforting.

On this scarred land, two distinct figures move.

Most slave creatures, numbly transporting similar corpses, collecting intact weapons and armor, carrying boxes of plundered goods from ruins to temporary assembly points.

Their vast numbers act with post-calamity survival gratitude and greed for more loot, noisy and chaotic.

While the former land masters, Night Elves, exude their presence in another manner.

The living elves in sight now few, either cold corpses being dragged away or captives with magic restraining shackles, eyes empty or burning with flames of hatred, under concentrated watch.

But their aura is omnipresent.

Those delicate feather patterns on broken arrows, the graceful natural reliefs on broken pottery, and the now dim moonlight runes etched on charred bark...all silently narrating a suddenly shattered, refined, ancient civilization coexisting with forest and moonlight.

Elune’s moonlight still fairly sprinkles on victors and vanquished, the living and the dead.

It witnesses this unequal conquest, seemingly using that constant, gentle purple brilliance to try and soothe the fresh and grave wounds of this forest.

The ruins under moonlight have a kind of poignant and cruel beauty.

Duke follows sparse groups of the bramble cluster, embarking on the journey back to Darkmoon Town.